


in regards to the sailboat effect

by crispytins



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Cliches Cliches Tropes Cliches, M/M, Pining, Post-Episode: s05e05 Geothermal Escapism, Reunion, abed pov, emotionally i'm clocked out right now, who is season six. i don’t know them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:20:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25582765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crispytins/pseuds/crispytins
Summary: There and Back Again: A look into Abed after Troy casts off to sea.
Relationships: Troy Barnes/Abed Nadir
Comments: 20
Kudos: 92





	in regards to the sailboat effect

**Author's Note:**

> in which i am unable to cope with the aftermath of seeing troy barnes leave my screen indefinitely and i spend two days hunched over my laptop rejecting His Final Fate

**THEN**

There’s no docks by the ocean in Colorado where Abed can gradually waste away into nothing at. This is a discouraging discovery. 

“We’re landlocked,” Annie reminds him over their counter, where just a few moments earlier Abed had been consulting Google for help to no avail. “There’s not an ocean for miles. The nearest body of water that even sort of connects is one of the rivers.” 

“Yeah, I know, I know." (The original plan had actually been to fly down to Texas and wallow by the Gulf, but that wasn’t very pragmatic.) Abed sighs, staring down at his shoes. He’s been doing this a lot recently. “I just want to be able to mourn him properly.” 

“Awww, Abed. It’s not like Troy has died or anything.” It's meant to be a light breezy comment, but it stills Abed in his chair. 

There’s a beat of silence. He swallows and musters a smile, the thin one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Right,” Abed says quietly. “Yeah.” 

“Don’t worry about him. Troy Barnes will come home in one piece.” Annie pat his arm reassuringly before she disappears into the bathroom, unknowing to the sickening ache that's churning in his gut. 

Abed considers the idea of Troy Barnes dying. A moment passes, and he stops considering. 

Troy doesn’t have a good sense of direction. He never has, maybe never will. What if he got lost at sea, caught in the tides? Better yet, maybe captured by pirates, managing to get stuck on a castaway island? The possibilities were growing and teetering off the edge of a very unpleasant mental ravine, and Abed shuts them out immediately. 

_If he can get lost in Greendale, then in the ocean, he could…_

_Well, the ocean could..._

He ducks into the pillow fort before Annie comes back. 

::

Yeah. Sue him. Abed's scared shitless at the thought of Troy Barnes sailing across the world. 

"LeVar is qualified. He'll keep Troy safe. And the homing pigeon frequency is set into place if he ever wants to come home." This is what he says on the outside to Britta. But honestly, he's terrified, because Troy likes a solid quest. But he's going to be gone for an entire year, on the ocean, and the homing pigeon frequency might fail. The peak of Troy's experience with the ocean was minimal, and the one time they went White River rafting, he'd fallen over the edge. 

Abed was in the right to be a little worried. He had faith. Of course he did. But there was a good splash of Caution dumped into the mix, too. 

Britta seems to be coping well on the outside for the moment. "Maybe he'll come home sooner," she says. "Troy _hates_ the water. I saw him once napping and crying in his sleep about the boat simulation we did in the parking lot." Her voice pitches a bit there, and Abed picks up on underlying anxiety. He doesn't say anything about it. 

"Classic Troy," Abed sighs worriedly, tossing his salad with a limp fork. "Well, statistically speaking, this opportunity to obtain such a large sum of money is likely to never occur again. Troy would take a chance to have it somehow. He'd conquer water." Britta sucks in a breath. She decides to not comment on how Abed speaks like Troy hasn't even left. 

"He _is_ conquering the water. The choice to leave has already been made, that ship has literally sailed." 

Abed nods reluctantly. _Yacht,_ he corrects internally. It doesn't matter, though. 

Britta plows on. "And, hey, I'm sure he's fine. After all, we both know that money isn't the only reason Troy left." She meets Abed's gaze, and in a flash, they see the same things: _Troy and Abed clinging to basement shelves, furniture teetering left and right. Abed leaning in too close_ _._ _Britta looking fearfully between them, watching Troy scream as Abed fell to the floor in slow motion._

Lava and the dark. Clones, letting go, and throats screamed raw. 

Britta's right. 

"I need to let him go," he hears himself mumble. He can feel himself beginning to spiral; his vision tunnels just slightly, curving inwards and folding up, before Britta clasps a hand across his shoulder. 

"Hey," she says firmly, "you already have." 

"I haven't." 

Britta presses her thumb hard into his shoulder blade. "Then you know what? Trust me. You will." 

::

It's weird now that Troy isn't here. 

Abed catches himself making too much buttered pasta, just enough for three but, too much for him and Annie. Comic conventions crop up, and it still takes a moment for his brain to catch up with the fact that he's only looking for _one_ all-access pass now. 

It's sort of like his arm's been ripped off, like Evil Jeff's situation if Evil Jeff had a heart. Abed finds it all strange. There's no one singing with him during marathons and car rides, no one sketching little aliens on the top of his notes when he's not looking. A disconnect in the universe's fabric has occurred, and the rip requires time to restore itself. Abed knows this, so when people start to ask him about that One Guy who used to be attached at his hip, he simply says, "Troy is finding himself right now." 

It hurts to admit. But it's the truth, isn't it?

Abed tries to make up with it by doodling his own aliens, like a small homage, and wonders about the ocean and crumbling sand. He thinks of salt spray flying across the surf like in movies, and Troy with his floppy sailor hat, masting the _Childish Tycoon,_ and staring fearlessly into the depths of the briny deep.

::

Some nights, Abed calls in sick with plans with the rest of the study group. Annie always covers for him, casting him soft smiles and giving him hugs before she lets the door click shut behind her. 

He doesn’t do much when she’s gone. Just...sits, usually, in the living room. He’ll settle in his armchair, staring at the empty one that Troy used to sit in. 

There’s no dust on it yet, but Abed knows it’ll come eventually. It's not like he's placed a ban on it or anything since Troy has left, but he was tempted. 

He’ll take out his laptop, clicking into the tracking application, where he sees the small blinking dots of him and his friends clustered in Colorado. Minutes pass as he zooms out until an identical red dot of TROY BARNES pops up on the screen near the bottom. 

There's one night, a monumental one, where Abed zooms out just enough to see Troy's dot leaving the shoreline strip of Baja California. 

Abed stills. Does the math. 

"Huh," he mumbles, "almost 850 miles. Cool. Cool, cool, cool." So the trip was going well then. His heart is hammering in his chest at an inordinately quick rate. Abed's supposed to be happy that everything is going well. This is good news, that - 

That Troy is almost one thousand miles away. 

Abed wraps himself up in a blanket, nursing a sharp ache in his chest that claws upwards as he watches a red dot drift away from Colorado.

If he could, he'd call to it, to bring it back home. But, well. Abed can't do that. Not when this is Troy's chance to be free. 

He clamps his laptop shut, unmoving in his chair until Annie comes home. 

::

Abed needs to stop mulling.

He starts working on a few films again. But the vigor isn't all there anymore, at least not all of it. It's to be expected; momentary sorrow that impedes an otherwise nonchalant mood isn't a surprise to Abed anymore. Britta thinks it's good that he's getting grounded again. 

"You've gotta keep yourself busy to cope with loss," she says, organizing her bag on the table while Abed is checking through some new footage. "It helps to have distractors. If you spend too much time missing someone or something, every day will hurt just the same as always. You can't get anything done, and it's the worst feeling in the world." 

"Mm," Abed hums noncommittally, finger still dragging across his mousepad. "So that's why you've suddenly signed up for all those elective classes." He doesn't look up, but he can hear the soft _thump_ of the bag as it hits the table. 

Britta hesitates. "No, of course not." Her voice is impossibly small and her eyes dart away. "Well, I mean, maybe. It's not the same without him. Obviously _you_ knew that already, but, it's been hard without him here." It's only through nearly half a decade of friendship that Abed can sense her impending waterworks, and his heart sinks. 

He stands up from his chair as a reflex, bringing Britta to her feet and wrapping his arms around her in a hug. 

"It's okay," he whispers. "I miss him, too." She fists her hands through the fabric of his cardigan and Abed holds her close. The janitor walks by at some point to clean the room, but Abed fixes them with a long stare until they leave. If Britta gets his new cardigan with the nice stripes on it wet, then, well. He doesn't mention it. 

::

Two months in, Abed starts to find joy in the little things again.

His smile is less difficult to coax out, and Britta notes that his eye bags lessen more and more. He’s getting more sleep, spending more time with the study group, like nothing has changed. The shift is less painful now. He and Annie spend their free time in the Dreamatorium, and he's almost used to Troy not being there anymore. Adjustments are put into place to set a new routine into motion. His laptop, though, always has a window open to the tracking device. 

It’s the mornings that are the worst to adjust to. There had used to be a rhythm for him and Troy, a familiarity in their schedule. Before, Abed would wake up early, as always, and hop up to the top bunk of their bed, where he'd pat Troy's arm to wake him up. They’d listen to that podcast about Inspector Spacetime together while getting ready and then head to the kitchen, where Annie was normally up already, checking over any notes and making pancakes.

As of the late, Abed has noted a disturbance in his sleeping schedule. He’s sleeping in later, closer to nine than seven a.m, feeling a pain low in his chest that aches through each day. He wakes up, gripping onto the top bunk’s rung, not daring to look up. The bunk starts to mildly haunt him. He's always tempted to look up just to see if maybe, just maybe, Troy's just hiding up there and napping, waiting for Abed to find him. (He's let down, every single time.) Annie has pancakes waiting on the counter, and they don't talk about how the third kitchen stool remains empty. 

Empty top bunks and empty stools and halfway occupied pillow forts are responsible for the occasional breakdowns. But, don't be fooled: Abed's fine. Just not all the time. He reaches a point where he stops checking the top bunk. Sleeping in later doesn't seem to be so bad, and he and Annie put the third stool away in her room. 

Other people try to fill in the void that now makes up BLANK and Abed, and it doesn't work. That's fine. It's not supposed to. 

Abed finds solace in a new routine but misses the old just the same. 

Troy Barnes is somewhere out there, and Abed is improving. He's coping, healing. And waiting.

He waits, and waits, and waits. 

::

It's at the four-month checkpoint of the _Bon Troyage_ that Abed decides to start penning emails to Troy. Nowhere, though, is it in a traditional sense. Abed's anticipated that he'd miss his frequent touch and contact with Troy, as there's no cell service in the middle of the ocean. He turned to writing (unsent) letters to Troy as a first resort. It felt like an overused movie trope to keep letters in a box, and a waste of paper, so after a week, he decided to turn to email. 

The intent wasn't to ever send any of the messages to Troy - if this were the case, then Troy would return to somewhere close to three hundred new emails. No, Abed would type in Troy's contact at the top of the address tab, write a long paragraph that wouldn't make all that much sense to anyone else but one Troy Barnes, and then bin it in his drafts. 

His drafts have become, then, a terrifyingly vulnerable place. Logically speaking, Abed knows that Troy isn't actually reading any of the emails in real time. Maybe one day, if Abed gets the courage and Troy is back home, he'll show him then. For now though, it has its merits, to pour out his feelings (and often, lack of) into a private space. He grins slightly at how Britta would definitely give herself credit for this. 

Some days, the email drafts are cheery and cover perfectly mundane topics, like the food that was being served in the cafeteria, how he felt about the latest episode of Inspector Spacetime. Others are so painful he can't bring himself to open them again. They're full of such blatant longing, such...selfishness. Too much emotion. Not Abed's style. Unfortunately, as much as he hates to confront them, those feelings are _real._ They're not right, but god, they're how Abed feels, and this is all he's got to comfort himself until the tide brings Troy home. 

Months come and go. The seasons blur at the starts and ends. Abed's email drafts grow. 

Every day, an email not sent gets stored away, never to see the light of day. Every day, Abed pens 'Troy' a new paragraph; if he listens to the silence of the pillow fort close enough, he can almost imagine Troy is there with him. Leaning into Abed's side, tucking an arm around his bony shoulders. 

It's a private joy. 

It helps. 

::

It’s only a year, it’s only a year, it’s only a year. 

::

It's month seven.

Abed stays up until 4 a.m. to watch Red Dot Troy fully cross the Pacific Ocean. He drafts a small email before passing out, head cushioned by the softness of the surrounding pillow fort. 

_Hey. It's Abed. Congratulations._

_You've crossed another milestone in an arduous quest across the planet. One ocean down. Just a few more to go._

_Annie misses your singing in the shower and your hot chocolate. The neighbors ask where you are, and I sometimes say you're at sea. Other times, I say you're off on some epic adventure, but, in a way, I guess they're one in the same thing. Me and Annie's routine is splintered now, but you already knew that. The midseason part of any show is one of the worst times to leave, because it throws off the main rhythm, but we're okay. I hope you're not worrying too much. If possible, I'd like to worry about you. We should've shaken on both of us worrying half and half so it's fair._

_I'm familiar with this trope, of the one where one of the two best friends goes on a journey, and in this instance, I'm the one that's left behind. I'm not a huge fan of how sad it makes me feel. But I know you'll be alright and come home even better than before._

_I miss you, Constable. Go forth for now, be your own man. The floor isn't lava anymore, and yet still sort of is. It's not the same here. But if you're in stable condition, becoming the person you've always wanted to be, that's all that counts._

_Sincerely,_

_Your Inspector._

::

Month eight comes, and Troy starts to occupy his dreams on a frequent basis. 

This isn't anything new; where Abed travelled in his dreams, Troy typically followed. That's just how they'd worked, half and half, taking on the world and others by storm. Normally there were zombie apocalypses, large space aliens, memories from The Other Timelines, movie theaters. 

These dreams were different. He's not sure what triggers them; maybe it's how far away the Red Dot Troy has strayed from the American mainland. 

There's just something weird about them...the new Dreams feel more like flashbacks, if his memories were softened by sleep and enhanced to HD. They're filled with quiet moments from their time together: falling asleep together on the sofa, in their pillow fort. Hands being held beneath tables, when dragging each other through crowded conventions. Troy tilting his head to rest it on Abed's shoulder during marathons and pulling up a blanket for both of them to share.

This all seemed to be grounded in some sort of actual memory.

However. There's one particularly vivid one where they're both in the study room after hours, and Troy takes both of Abed's hands, folding them over his own. He can't quite make out what either of them are saying, or think about why they're at Greendale and not in the apartment, but he _does_ remember a short distance being closed. Abed remembers warmth flooding his chest, seeing ocean and lava and stars and sky, and how soft Troy's mouth had been against his own. 

It's part False, part Reality. 

The False: Abed had never kissed Troy Barnes before but, 

The Reality: if given the chance, he'd definitely, definitely take it. 

::

**A YEAR BEFORE**

_Troy is sitting on the edge of the bottom bunk, a bowl of popcorn in his lap. They're listening to an audio file of behind-the-scenes commentary of Cougar Town. Troy isn't the biggest fan, but Abed is, so he likes to tune in too. They've sat in relatively companionable silence until Troy says, "Abed?"_

_Abed cranes his head up from the floor. "Yeah?"_

_"We're...always going to be friends, right?"_

_There's no delay in Abed's response. "Of course. This is the main timeline. There shouldn't be any reason for us to separate, at least right now."_

_Troy nods then, more to himself if anything else. It's reassuring."You're right," he says. "At least, I hope you are. You're right about a lot of things."_

_Abed stands up, settling beside Troy. The bed creaks beneath them. "Well," Abed begins carefully, "not always. Sometimes I mess things up. Sometimes, the script in my head doesn't go as planned, and I'm not always prepared for that. But, it helps that I feel comfortable enough to speak my mind at all, and even though not everything I say makes sense, there's...someone..." Abed seems to be hesitating to finish. Troy nudges him gently to continue._

_"Someone who...?" Troy coaxes._

_"Someone who cares enough to listen." After a moment of consideration, Abed looks at Troy, unblinking. And just like that, Troy gets it. It's like when they're playing video games together, when they're both ready to dash and run on the occasions they eat out, when they lock eyes and see each other's thoughts translated crisply into Blu-Ray definition. Troy always, always gets it._

_He doesn't say anything else and wraps his arms around Abed._

_"Hey, buddy," he whispers softly, "I love listening to you."_

_The laptop continues to play the commentary in the background. But all Abed cares about is the warmth of Troy's hands running small circles into his back._

_He leans into his embrace, and the companionable silence returns._

::

At the nine month point, Abed's laptop breaks, which is decidedly following one of the most evil movie tropes of all time of an Important Electronic Device Breaking At A Shitty Time. He takes it in to get repairs, realizing belatedly that his tracking application was still locked inside (as well as some documentary footage for Jeff but, that's replaceable. It wasn't all that great, but it was stored also in an external hard drive. The homing device was not).

"Is there any way I can get this repaired in a more expedited manner?" 

"Sorry, Mr. Nadir. Give it two weeks and it'll be good for pick up. I can't guarantee anything sooner." 

"There's no way I can persuade you otherwise? I'm sorry, it's just, there's some very important files for a...film project, and - " 

" - I'm sorry. There's been substantial file corruption. I would recommend finding an alternative device in the meantime. Good day, Mr. Nadir." 

Abed nods, thin lipped, walking out of the store empty-handed. He does not sleep for many nights to follow.

::

Abed is still mourning his laptop for days to follow while Annie becomes strangely cheerful. Britta and Shirley follow suit, and Abed catches all three of them poring over a newspaper article about a small boat being brought in from international waters. 

He doesn't think much of it, because the _Childish Tycoon_ isn't due to be back yet for another three months. A year has not yet been spent, and Troy wouldn't abandon his mission. He was stubborn that way, sticking to things he really cared about till the absolute bitter end. So, Abed ignores the rest of the study group's chatter. Troy is fine, Troy is _probably fine_ , and Abed needs to officially stop stressing about him.

He writes an 'email' to Troy on the school computers to distract himself, completely oblivious to the balloons that Annie has stashed in her room.

More time is spent concentrating on the Prospect of being in love with someone across the globe than on how Jeff recently bought posters, paint, and markers from Michael's.

Abed tries hard to focus on the mundane things, the normal things like cafeteria food and homework and the squirrels on the quad, and manages to block out the news report that a "celebrity and unnamed companion" were flying into Denver after nine months at sea. 

He's forcefully moving on, which is entirely incredible and great to hear later on but, in doing so at such a stage, misses the stage whisper of the universe breathing normalcy back. 

::

A plane lands late at the Denver International.

From inside of it, a man in a worn away sailor's hat stumbles off, groggy, and is taken back to Greendale by Britta. 

Abed hasn't detected it yet, because he's forced himself to stick his nose in a film studies textbook, but the balance to nature has been restored. 

:: 

**NOW**

The morning that Troy comes back, it's all meant to be a surprise for Abed. Abed walks into the brightly decorated study room just to see Annie and Shirley fawning over a grinning Troy, seated at his old spot and laughing like nothing ever changed. 

Instinct acts quickly. Abed clenches his jaw, pinching himself to see if this is some demented trick. He blinks hard, once, twice, but Troy Barnes seems to be _here_ , in Greendale, in the _flesh_. But, it's like Troy Barnes, in Greendale, after coming back from a few fights with God and a dimmer light in his eyes. He's seen the world. He's roughed it out there.

Abed notes, with a growing knot in his chest, that there's a cut on Troy's cheek. Scars on his neck that weren't there before, band aids crossing his arms. Troy hasn't noticed Abed yet, noticed how he's dangerously close to breaking. When Annie catches sight of him, she nudges Troy gently. He looks up, still laughing, before meeting Abed's gaze.

They stare at each other, each scrounging for words to say and coming up empty. A die has been cast for them to be here, after months of solitude and ocean, of silent flight and tidal pull. A penny thrown in a well, a devil's wish granted. Nine months have gone by. _He looks tired,_ Abed thinks. 

God. It's been _nine months._

Shirley and Annie exchange a look and depart the room, just as Troy pushes himself up from his chair, hands awkwardly stuck fast in his jean pockets. He's not smiling anymore. Instead, there something akin to awe on his face. The only other time he'd worn a similar expression was when they first saw shooting stars outside of Denver.

"Hey, Abed," Troy Barnes In The Flesh says softly. 

Abed pinches himself again. He can feel himself malfunctioning, and he's spending way too much time staring at the cut on Troy's cheek. 

"Um," he manages. 

"Oh. These," Troy nods in understanding, bringing a hand up to his cheek, before gesturing to his other wounds. "They'll heal. Not all of them, but most of them. At least, I think some of them will remain, but, it's like a trophy, you know? A monument to remember my experiences by."

"Right," Abed says shakily. There's no explanation for the explosion in his brain, the way the room seems brighter, brighter, _brighter_. "I, um, wasn't expecting you to come home back so soon." 

Troy laughs, the low one where he grins and huffs air out his nostrils. "I can explain in a minute why the mission was cut short. You know, I never thought that a year could take so long." Troy's voice trembles, and there's relief, pain, something warm and impossibly bright in his eyes that Abed finds wholly unfamiliar. He cautions a step closer, trying to steady himself. "It wasn't even a full year, but it might as well have been."

Abed hears himself laugh. "That's what they always say. The lack of contact and months estranged away from the mainland has warped your sense of time. But," and he catches himself, "it was a long wait for me, too." 

There's that soft grin tugging Troy's mouth upwards. "Yeah?" 

"Yeah," Abed says gently. An unseen burden grows light and mild. The knot in his chest is loosening with each passing moment. His smile falters. "I'm having difficulty processing this. A part of me is terrified of the prospect of you not really being here, and instead acting as a manifestation of my inability to let go." 

"Your inability to...oh." They're standing face to face now, a foot apart. In a familiar motion, Troy takes Abed's hands, holding them firmly. They're not as soft as they used to be; they're calloused, rough to Abed's skin, but he holds them nonetheless. Something delicate and small breaks in Abed's chest. Troy from his memories hadn't been so well lived in, which meant thatthis wasn't some cruel phantom memory. 

Troy clears his throat. "Abed, you're okay. I'm alright. I have so much to tell you, but I need to say first, this isn't Clone Troy speaking. This is Real Troy.” He pauses. “If it's possible, I want to make sure Real Abed is listening to this broadcast." 

Abed feels himself smile. "Real Abed checking in," he confirms, and Troy pulls him closer, and honestly, really truly honestly, it's good to see Troy, and Troy Smiling, and to finally, _finally_ be back to being Troy and Abed. 

"Well. The explanation for this mission being cut sort of short was because Clone Troy was starting to get homesick." 

"Hmm. And what about Real Troy?" 

Troy's smile softens. "Real Troy, who's actually not as dead as we thought, got homesick, too. And, well, I _guess_ there was that one time LeVar got captured by some pirates and his agents flew us back to land in a chopper because of, I don't know, insurance or something, but mainly because I missed being around yo - _Greendale_." Troy catches himself near the end. His grip on Abed's hands tightens, but Abed's not stupid. He's connected the dots. 

He cocks a brow. "Pirates?" Abed asks, to clarify.

"Pirates," Troy agrees, nodding diplomatically. There's more to this story, Abed can tell, but he swallows down any questions. 

"Huh. Never would've guessed. This supports the theory that celebrity monetary worth still has significance, even in the middle of nowhere outside of Hollywood bubbles." 

"Technically Sherman Oaks, but that's close enough." 

The sun is splitting through the seams of Abed’s skin. Troy’s so close, and he smells more like sunscreen now than his usual shampoo, but that doesn’t matter anymore. For the first time in nearly nine months, things are making sense. 

“Close enough,” Abed echoes. Then, he says, “I missed you.” 

Troy leans in and tugs Abed down just a bit, at a height that’s just enough for him to rest Abed's forehead against his own.

“I know you did.” And Troy's voice is hoarse, like it’s been run through sand and sky, the world’s ending, and Abed almost cries.

It’s a perfectly cliche movie trope, and Abed knows damn well that Troy knows it too. 

“I couldn’t fully let you go, you know.” Cliche line.

Troy hums. “I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit,” he murmurs. Not so cliche line. “Britta told me that you did a good job of coping.” 

”Britta is very generous.” 

”Oh yeah?” Troy pulls him closer. “Answer this, then. Right now, do you see lava?”

The room feels like it’s notched up to boiling and the sun is careening through the ceiling, dragging down clouds, telephone lines, airplanes. Hundreds of unsent emails are spilling out of his phone, falling onto the floor by the dozens, and Abed is wincing because the floor is...

Not lava.   
  


“No.” Abed is incredulous. The room is chaos and in his mind, Greendale is falling apart around him and Troy fucking Barnes, but the floor isn’t lava. “There’s nothing there.”

Troy hums. “Then,” he says, before tilting his nose against Abed’s, “I think you did just fine.”

Troy’s mouth is just as soft as Abed remembers in a distant dream. The room flares up and there’s comets, space ships, a phone booth whirring by the door.   
  


But it’s fine.   
  


Everything is fine, because Troy is back and Abed is Okay, and reality is starting to make sense again, any tropes be damned.

**Author's Note:**

> chill w me on twitter @ hawthorias to hear me speak my feelings into the void about how 1) i miss troy barnes and 2) cry a bit about how i’m reluctant to finally see this show’s finale. my fingers are hurting a lot at the moment, and i can’t tell if it’s because of my writer’s cramp or fatigue. maybe it’s the 3am post beta hours talking - i am not privy to know. anyways, comment or kudos if you want, this was a ride to write and i hope that you have a lovely day


End file.
